


In The Night After

by jessebee



Series: Moments Between (ROTJ) [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon Character Injury, Discussion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Missing Scene, Polyamorous Character, Post Trauma Sexual Disfunction, Pre-Slash (no squinting whatsoever), Slash, Truth Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: After theBattle of Endor and the second Death Star's destruction, Han faces  -- and reveals -- some unavoidable truths.(Missing scene for RETURN OF THE JEDI)





	

 

 

 

Han spent way too much kriffin' time these days waiting, it seemed like, and he _hated_ that.

Waiting for execution, or worse, in a prison cell in a floating city. Waiting through an interminable subspace trip, nothing to do but work on the ailing hyperdrive and the won’t-catch-a-clue princess, although that particular wait had gotten a bit more pleasant there toward the end.

Waiting for the shakes, shocks, shivers, and the gut-wrenching, terrifying _blindness_ to end, trying to trust Leia’s kiss and Chewie’s arms and Luke’s words, Luke’s _presence_ – his only lifelines in a world about to end in tears and the belly of a sarlaac.

Waiting for dawn, holding the strongest woman he’d ever known in his arms as she trembled and fought her way through a battle that she wouldn’t let him share, not then, not yet.

And now _again_ , he was waiting. Sittin' here on rough wood slats, leaning against the equally rough wood hut that passed for high quality among their miniature friends, with something prickly poking him in the back.

Waiting for proof of life.

Han took a deep breath. Wood-smoke and the tang of resin sharpened the air, mixing with the aroma of something that might be meat cooking. Little beings bustled around him and his brain kept trying to paint them as baby Wookies, although their language was nothing like Chewie's. Which made him think about Kashyyyk, it had been a long while … Han shook his head, hard.

Oh, he knew Luke was alive. Leia had spoken by comm to her brother – _her_ _ **brother**_ – while Han had been helping Chewie and she swore that Luke just had something he needed to do before he joined them. But the tension in Han's spine wasn't going to unknot until he saw Luke again. Until he could _touch_.

Han had words to say to the man.

He had words to say to Leia, too.

None of those words were going to be anything like easy.

 

Night arrived fast on this moon, its rotation only about two-thirds the length of galactic standard. Han had spent most of the day in post-operation cleanup, talking with Alliance command, doing what needed doing for the wounded and the dead: enemies, rebels, and their small furry allies alike.

That last one never, ever got any less painful.

Now the dark had fallen with a resounding thud, which as far as their “short help” were concerned meant it was celebration time. Food and drink were appearing, in far greater quantity and variety than the night before, much of it palatable for the human types. Trophies had appeared, too; armor and weapons and Imp helmets, of all things. Han wasn't sure he wanted to know what his little friends – “Ewok is their name for themselves, sir,” Threepio had loftily informed him – were going to do with those.

“Han?” Leia's voice drifted out from the hut Han was sitting next to. “Would you mind – giving me a hand?”

“'Course not.” Han heaved himself to his feet, wincing at the lingering aches, and ducked inside. “What's – oh.”

Leia looked up at him from her perch on a low bench, with her shirt unfastened, a pile of fabric in her lap and an odd look on her face. “The blaster burn is making it – uncomfortable to raise this arm much.” She nodded at the bandage on her left arm, there below the torn sleeve of her uniform shirt. “The medic redressed it earlier, but I'd really like to change clothes. Our little friends seem to have a lot invested in what I wear, for some reason,” her mouth curved up, “and diplomacy always helps.”

Was that a dig? “Hey, I’m diplomatic,” Han protested, more for form’s sake than anything else.

His reward was a widening of Leia’s smile. “You are the very soul of tact and discretion.”

“And don’t you forget it. All right,” he said, kissing her lightly on the mouth before moving around to crouch at her good side. “If I hold the sleeve, can you shrug out of it?”

Between them it only took a careful minute to get her out of the ruined shirt. That left her sitting there in nothing but her trousers and a breast band as Han helped her get both arms through the sleeves of the Ewok-high-fashion white dress/tunic thing. Then he maneuvered it over her head, careful not catch the heavy coils of hair still pinned at the back. “There, that's on,” he said as he settled it in place around her middle. “Didn’t even yank a braid.”

“And what? You want another medal?” Leia teased, and touched his chin to pull him into a soft kiss.

“No medal could beat this,” Han whispered against her mouth, and kissed her again.

Then he drew back a little and just looked at her, leaving his hand cupped around her nape. Amazed all over again that they were actually _here_ , and wondering if he was going to blast it all to pieces in the next few hours. Wondering too, ruefully, for just how much longer his libido was going to be missing in action. “You are so damn beautiful … ”

“But while the mind is willing, the body still is not?” Leia murmured, then smiled crookedly at his catch of breath. “This is neither the time nor the place, anyway. And even if you weren’t still recovering, this – ” she shrugged her left shoulder and promptly winced “ – doesn’t exactly put me in the mood either.”

“Don't _move_ like that, then,” Han scolded, taking refuge in irritation, staring at the now-hidden wound and trying to ignore the way the back of his neck was going hot.

“I'm okay, Han. And so are you, or you will be.” She cupped his cheek to bring his eyes back to hers. “Don't worry.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.” Leia tilted her head, and Han got the strangest feeling that she was seeing too far into him, just like –

Like her brother. Prickles broke out all over Han's skin. How the krif were they siblings? What was Luke doing, anyway? And where? And how would he react when Han told him –

“You _are_ worried,” Leia repeated slowly, “about that, and about something else. What?”

Han opened his mouth, and shut it.

“Han?”

If he opened his mouth again, what the Sithspit hells was going to come out of it? “When – the Death Star blew … ”

Leia slipped her hand into his hair and stroked, terrifyingly gentle. “Tell me.”

How? How did he tell himself, even?

“All that power – all that – we'd done it, war's not over but we've hit them a blow that'll be damned hard to recover from, but all I could think, watchin' the pieces fall and waiting for the boom, was … ” Han squeezed his eyes shut a moment, then made himself face her deep, warm ones. “Was that if Luke _was_ on that thing when it went, it'd never be more than half a victory, for me.”

“Well, no, but – ” Leia stopped abruptly, and Han swallowed as her face loosened and those eyes went wide. “ _That's_ _why_ ,” she breathed.

Han's own breathing stopped.

“It wasn't that you were so worried about _my_ loving Luke – it was that if I did, that way, you thought that would – shut you out. That _you'd_ never have a chance and you'd just figured out that _you want one_. With – both – of us?”

Han squeezed his eyes shut again and managed to nod, once. “I don't know how this happened,” he got out, finally, around the killing knot in his throat.

“Oh Han,” Leia said, soft and unsteady. Her arm came around his shoulders and tugged, pulling him close.

She wasn't going to push him away.

The punch of relief shoved out every bit of air he'd been holding and left him dizzy, his forehead pressed against her breasts; he put his arms around her tiny waist for support as much as anything else. Her arm across his back felt like shelter, and her warm, sweaty scent was the best thing he'd ever breathed in his life.

“You know,” Leia said after a while, after what felt like a kiss to the top of his head, “for a guy who once told me he was just in it for the money … ”

Gods, but he loved her. “Never gonna let me forget that, are you?” Han said thickly.

“A line _that_ good? Never _ever_.”

A little snort of laughter escaped him and he hugged her, and felt her kiss the top of his head again.

“You'll have to tell him,” Leia murmured eventually, her breath stirring his hair.

Han's knees were starting to complain. He reluctantly let her go and sat back on his heels and sighed, scrubbing one hand over his face. “I know,” he said, making himself meet her eyes again. “You – you'd – be okay with this?”

“I'd – think about it.”

Which wasn't “yes” but wasn't a flat “no,” either. “I know plurals ain't exactly common on most human worlds.”

“But not unheard of, either,” Leia said. “And more common on Corellia, yes?”

Han nodded. That had taken some getting used to, in fact, when he'd first shipped off-world; the reality that most of the galaxy thought in binary terms. Oh, he'd known that, sure, but it hadn't really sunk in.

“I never thought about being part of one myself,” she said, her gaze gone elsewhere.

“Will you now?” He took her hand, and her eyes came back to his. “Think about it?”

Leia studied him. Such a tiny regal spitfire she was, this woman who'd somehow become as essential to him as Chewie. As Luke. A critical player in the effort to defeat the Empire, who had nevertheless put half the galaxy on hold in order to help rescue one cynical smuggler.

This woman who loved him.

A smile began to curve her mouth. “You know what you are?”

“In love?” The soft truth was just _there_ , riding on tentative hope, falling out of Han's mouth without any input from his brain.

Leia's breath caught, before her smile broadened. “Greedy.” She tapped him on the nose. “Royalty isn't enough, you want a Jedi as well?”

“Won't apologize for wanting the all of the best,” Han said around the sudden lump in his throat, “even if my odds are pretty long.”

Leia leaned in close. “I'll tell you this,” she said, her breath fanning his lips. “I think your odds might be better than you think.”

 

*

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**Author's Note:**

> 2.7.17  
> Han/Leia  
> Han/Luke (pre-slash)
> 
> Thanks as always to culturevulture73 and HollyC for aiding, abetting, editing, thwapping, and other assorted essential stuff :-)


End file.
